


Not Vivian

by MashiarasDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas does not like what he does so this is not a positive description of sex work, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reconciliation, ex-sex worker!Dean, mentions of past drug addiction, mentions of underage sex work, sex work au, sex worker!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:13:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/pseuds/MashiarasDream
Summary: Cas wants nothing but to eat his fries in peace. But he has to make rent so he’s not in a position to turn down anyone who wants to purchase his services. Thus, when a stranger says Hi, he reluctantly answers. Turns out, the stranger is not a stranger at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because I read a S9 human!Cas fic where Cas turns to sex work and Dean sweeps in as the hero to save him. That sat wrong with me, especially because I hold firm to the headcanon that Dean turned tricks in his youth (I mean, even Jensen seems to think that). This fic turned AU and Cas is more endverse!Cas than S9 human!Cas. But hey. 
> 
> Thanks to ViviTargaryen for a quick betaing!
> 
> I live of feedback. Please leave a comment if you feel like it!

“Hey.”

He doesn’t even want to look up at the greeting. Can’t the guy see that he is eating? Can’t he see that he is on a break? Why else would he be sitting on a park-bench munching fries?

But then, breaks count only for so much when you are self-employed and usually close to starving. So he closes his eyes for a second to gather strength and puts his game-face on.

“Hello, gorgeous, what can I do for-“, his smile falters and his words falter with it.

Because ‘gorgeous’ is the correct address but still his stomach plummets into the abyss. Because with a crooked smile and a fresh haircut, his past is standing in front of him. And up to this moment he’d been pretty sure that he’d left his past behind for good.

“Dean.” He tries to go for steady and calm but his voice breaks on even the one word so he leaves it at that.

“Hey Cas.” Dean hides his hands deep inside his jacket and smiles somewhat sheepishly. Like he’s not sure he should be smiling. Whether that is because of how they left things off or because of what Cas has become, he doesn’t know.

He’s not sure he wants to find out, either, so Cas averts his eyes from the smile, concentrates on the jacket instead. It’s a good jacket. Expensive. Leather with a lamb wool lining. Toasty warm, Cas would bet. Very unlike his own clothes. But it wouldn’t do, hiding the merchandise, so thinking about warm jackets makes no sense for him in the first place, whether he could afford them or not.

Dean has used his absentminded thoughts to move and before Cas knows what’s happening, Dean is sitting down next to him. Close enough that he imagines he can feel his body heat. But far enough away that they don’t touch. It’s irritating, the space between them not something he’s used to. Again he wonders whether it’s because of how they left things off or because of the ripped jeans and the too tight shirt with the too low neckline. Even though he went with long sleeves today, a concession to the cold. It does nothing to hide what he is, though. And really, that’s the whole point of the outfit. It’s supposed to be advertisement. Only now Cas feels like covering every one of the strategically placed slashes in his jeans, of covering himself up so that he can hide from Dean’s gaze.

Instead, Cas chances another glance at Dean after all. He’s got his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, and he’s staring towards the fountain instead of looking at Cas. It makes Cas’ stomach clench but he still uses the opportunity to look Dean over. He’s gotten older. There are wrinkles around his eyes that Cas doesn’t know. But the three day stubble is still the same. Dean’s never been a meticulous shaver.

“How much?” Dean suddenly asks.

“What?” Cas is too thrown to answer anything more coherent.

“How much do you ask?” Dean half-turns towards him but then seems to decide that it’s safer not to look at him.

Of all things Dean could have said, this is the one that doesn’t compute. “You got to be kidding me,” Cas sputters. Dean can’t honestly be here for _that_. He can’t have found him after all this time just to – he can’t.

“Not really,” Dean answers, sounding calm as all fuck about it while Cas stares at him open-mouthed.

Only for a heartbeat, though, then he’s up on his feet so fast that his French fries spill everywhere. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he mourns the loss of perfectly fine food but it’s background noise to the screeching sounds of _NO_ his brain is filled with.

Instead of uttering that out loud, he turns and stomps off.

Or attempts to stomp off at least because he gets a mere two steps before a hand is grabbing at his elbow.

“Let go off me!” he hisses and rips himself out of the touch so violently that the next thing he hears is a tearing sound. “Fuck. Fuck! See what you’ve done?” He channels his anger into this because it’s easier than the other thing, and drags the ripped sleeve off his arm to shove it into Dean’s face. “That was a perfectly whole shirt! Now I’m going to have to replace it. Congratulations, you just made my work night longer. But I’m NOT doing you!” he adds immediately, just in case Dean didn’t get the message. “I’m saying No to you, capiche?”

He holds his ground, having moved right into Dean’s space, daring him to try and take this without his consent even while he’s perfectly aware that seething anger is his only defense. Dean has a few inches and about 30 pounds on him. And in this neighborhood, Cas can scream himself hoarse asking for help, no help is going to come.

Not that he thinks Dean would. But he didn’t think Dean would try to pay to fuck him, either.

“Whoa, Cas, calm down,” Dean backs away, hands up in the air. “’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it? You got any other reason to ask me how much I cost?”

He’s too angry to keep his voice low and it makes Dean look around nervously. But there’s no one close. Not that it would make a difference.

“25 for a handjob, 40 for a blowjob, 60 for a fuck. With rubber. Right?”

“What?”

“The going rates,” Dean explains calmly.

“35, 50, 75. On good nights,” Cas replies confused.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a few years,” Dean shrugs. “Guess prices increased like with everything else. Good for you, I guess.”

But Cas is still hung up on the first part of the answer. “It’s been a few years since what?” he asks. Because it’s been a few years since they’ve seen each other and to the best of his knowledge Dean never had trouble finding some if he wanted it. It makes zero sense for him to know the going rates of paid sex on the streets.

“Look, Cas, can we talk somewhere else? There’s gotta be a diner around here somewhere,” Dean deflects instead of answering Cas’ question.

His first instinct is to say No. They’ve hashed this out before. It didn’t give them closure, it left them more hurt. And it made Cas end up here. And from a less personal point of view, your next move after you refuse a potential customer is to make sure you get the hell away from them.

So he really should just leave Dean standing here. Just leave him alone in the park. Alone.

“Where is Sam?” Cas asks. Cause for the first time he’s noticed consciously that Sam isn’t here and Dean outside of his hometown without Sam is not something that usually happens. Actually, it had happened only once so far. In Rexford. Not that Cas wants to be reminded.

But Dean’s mind obviously goes someplace else, because he’s suddenly got a soft proud smile on his face. “He’s at college. You don’t need to worry.”

“I didn’t –“ But Cas breaks off because he realizes that he did. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had worried that when Dean had shown up on his own - and propositioned him on top of that - that it meant that something bad had happened. That Sam was gone and Dean had gone off the deep end. “I’m glad he’s okay,” he mumbles.

Dean cracks another smile. ”Thanks, Cas.”

“I’m not going to put out. If I go with you. I’m not going to have sex with you. With or without payment.”

“Understood,” Dean nods and he doesn’t look upset by it.

So Cas clutches his ripped sleeve to his chest and follows Dean down the street.

There is a diner a block away from here, and apparently Dean knows it because he walks straight towards it. He only stops when they reach the entrance. He shrugs out of his jacket and then out of his flannel.

“Here,” he hands the plaid shirt to Cas.

“You don’t need to…”

“Dude, your shirt is missing a sleeve.”

Which is an astute observation, so Cas takes Dean’s shirt and pulls it on.

It provokes another small smile from Dean and Cas doesn’t even protest when Dean straightens his shirt collar before nodding and leading the way into the diner.

He walks towards a corner booth, which is all the better. Cas wraps Dean’s flannel tightly around himself and looks at the other patrons. He’s not as obvious today as he’s on other days, when Balthazar manages to dress him up in something more flamboyant or puts make-up on him, but he’s working this area too often for it to be safe to assume that people haven’t noticed him. And noticing him might lead to them not wanting to have him in their establishment.

But the waitress who brings them water just looks at them bored and doesn’t do more than nod when Dean orders two burgers and a milkshake for Cas and a beer for himself.  

Cas is too weirded out by the whole situation to protest but Dean explains himself anyway. “Sorry, but I’m not feeding you alcohol. Not until I know what else there is in your system. And you always liked milkshakes.”

“They were Gabe’s favorite.” It’s a stupid sentimental thing to say but it slips out anyway. Cas feels the heat in his cheeks and turns his head away to look at the checkered linoleum of the floor.

“That’s why you like them,” Dean says softly.

Cas doesn’t deny it.

“So is there? Something else in your system?”

The question is as soft and quiet as the sentence before but it raises Cas’ hackles. He looks back up. “Does it matter how I answer that? A junkie is not going to tell the truth anyway, right? You can’t trust me so you can as well save yourself the effort of asking.”

For a second, he thinks he might have managed to piss Dean off. But Dean just watches him steadily and it makes Cas fidget. Once upon a time, he’d been the one to win each staring contest but this whole situation is too much for his nerves right now.

“I guess we have something in common then,” Dean finally answers. “I mean, it’s not like you have any reason to trust me, either, these days.”

There’s something incredibly sad in his voice, so much regret that Cas angrily jerks his hands off the table, where they had been creeping closer to Dean out of their own accord. There is no _these days_ between them. “Why are you here, Dean?” he asks curtly.

“Cause I came looking for you,” Dean shrugs.

“Why? I can’t believe you came all the way from Lebanon to proposition me in a park.”

It doesn’t even come out as a full-fledged attack but Dean’s eyebrows still furrow. “Sioux Falls. And that’s _not_ what I was doing. You gotta know that.”

Cas stores the information away but he doesn’t take the bait. “What did you do then? Why are you here?” 

Dean doesn’t answer but he looks at Cas, looks at him with stupidly soft eyes and a stupidly open face and a familiar line of determination around his mouth.

Cas almost violently jerks back, it’s so easy to read once he tries. “No,” he shakes his head. “You don’t get to do that, Dean. You don’t get to swoop in here like a white knight on his white horse. You don’t. You don’t have the right.”

Dean gives him a half-smile and shrugs. “Well, she’s black. And she’s got horse power but an impala is not biologically a horse if I remember correctly.”

It’s cautious and nervous, an experiment of a joke more than an actual joke, but it’s still a thing they might have said to each other when things were different. When they meant something to each other.

It stabs him right between the ribs.

Fortunately, the waitress chooses this moment to bring their food so Cas can sit and breathe through the pain before he has to come up with an answer.

It was a bad idea coming here. It was a bad idea talking to Dean at all. It’s like with every second and every sentence between them the locked box inside him, the one where he’s put the hopeless dreamer part of himself, the lover, the romantic, everything that he can’t use in this life, is being cracked open. And doing that is a spectacularly bad idea.

Because every time he looks at that box, he finds his brain too sober and wishes for something to take the edge off.

But then his stomach grumbles and that’s a more immediate problem with a more immediate solution, so he latches onto it.

Both the burger and the milkshake are huge. And yeah, Cas is hungry, lunch having been non-existent and his fries spilled under a bench in the park, but large amounts of greasy foods are not his friend anymore. Neither are onions. Well, he can do something about that. He takes the burger apart and starts meticulously picking the onions out.

Dean watches him for a few minutes before he says, “You actually going to eat, man?”

“Yes, I will,” Cas nods. “I’m not going to waste your hospitality, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t feel like explaining that he is used to having the side-portion of fries as his dinner. That usually water goes with that, not sugary milkshakes. Because ever since he’s sober he can’t bring himself to work more than is needed for the bare essentials.

But at least it’s always enough. Or if it isn’t Balthazar helps out. Cas isn’t starving.

As if on cue, his stomach growls loudly again. Well, not starving isn’t the same as well-fed, he admits. He puts the burger back together and cuts it into four equal pieces. Those will be easier to manage. He takes the first one and takes a bite.

He remembers eating whole burgers in three minutes flat. The munchies would do that to him. It’s weird that his stomach is worse now than it was back then. That suddenly one quarter of the burger seems daunting. But then, he guesses the feeling of dread that is a semi-permanent companion nowadays is probably not making it any easier.

Cause Cas should be doing something with his life. Anything but turning tricks. He’s pretty sure he could do it if he could just get started. Yeah, he has no real work experience apart from that Gas’n’sip cause his time being ‘self-employed’ won’t do on any resume, and his GED is in the system somewhere but it’s definitely been a while since he’s seen a copy of it. But someone somewhere would probably get over all of that and hire him for – something. Something that allows his life to move forward.

Yeah, how’s that for vague life plans.  

“How long have you been here?” Dean asks and breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Since shortly after the disaster in Rexford. I got fired.” Not unexpected after the events of Dean’s visit. Not that they had been Dean’s fault. Coincidence. But unfortunate coincidence.

“Sorry,” Dean says and looks guilty.

Cas shrugs. “Wasn’t like that job was enough to make ends meet.”

“But this job is?” Dean asks.

Cas expects something more – more disgust, more judgement. But Dean’s voice is perfectly neutral.

“Mostly,” Cas nods.

“But you hate it.” Dean states it like it isn’t a question.

Cas guesses it probably really is that obvious but that still doesn’t give Dean the right.

“None of your business,” Cas snaps. His appetite is gone, so he puts the burger back on the plate. He isn’t going to waste it but there’s no use in making himself sick, either.

“You got a clinic in this town? Or at least some doctor who’s amenable to the cause?” Dean keeps pressing.

“What?” Where had that come from?

“Come on, Cas, I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.” He catches that one before Cas even needs to say anything. “That was stupid, sorry.”

“Arrogant is what I’d call it,” Cas bites.

For a moment it seems like Dean is taking the hint and retreating, clinging to his beer bottle and leaning away. But then he looks up at Cas and the determination is back. “There was a clinic in Kansas City. Didn’t want your insurance, didn’t want your ID, didn’t ask your age. You gave them some cash, they treated you. In Lebanon, not so much. There were a few doctors. Don’t get me wrong, it was better than nothing. But they didn’t want to be paid in cash. And the fact that they knew how to patch you up meant they weren’t overly careful to begin with. So yeah, clinic’s definitely better.”

Cas stares at him slack-mouthed. “You?” His voice barely finds enough strength for that one word.

“Me,” Dean confirms and it feels like a punch.

Not Dean. It can’t be. Cas’ eyes find Dean’s face again, and the angles are different than he remembers but it’s still Dean’s face. An open face. A good face. Dean wears his heart on his sleeve no matter how stoic he thinks he is. And his heart is good and pure and even though he’s an asshole sometimes, he should never have to see the worst of humanity. He should always only get to see the best. That’s always been Cas’ opinion and even though the bright glow that the drugs gave Dean’s soul is not actually visible to him anymore, he still believes it.

And how did Cas not notice this? How did he not know? How had he had sex with Dean and not noticed? He’d have thought it was impossible to be that high. That he’d see it on everyone. He can definitely see it on himself. And on Balthazar, even though Balthazar does his shows now and is away from the streets.

But Dean? Dean is too easy to hurt for this. One good sarcastic remark can knock him out. That isn’t the way you are after having worked the streets for a while.

Cas can’t wrap his mind around it.

And Dean had been young. He’d been barely of age when they’d known each other. Before everything came tumbling down for both of them.

“Hey.” Dean brings him back to the present. “You okay?”

He isn’t. He’s a hundred miles away from okay. He wants to tell Dean that he’s sorry, that he’d change it, that he’d take this onto himself so that Dean didn’t have to. But he knows that if Dean uttered the same words to him, he’d flip him off, get up and leave. So he stays quiet.

“Sam’s graduated, Cas,” Dean’s voice shines with pride, nothing different in it, nothing to betray the secret he’s just told Cas. “He got a full ride to Stanford. He’s a legal adult and I’m not his guardian anymore. That’s why I came. That’s why I came _now_.”

Dean licks his lips, a nervous gesture that he has apparently not managed to shake and Cas can feel his own head tilting as he’s trying to puzzle it out. He immediately works on rectifying that. He has tried to get rid of all the gestures that make him easy to read. No use in giving people pointers about your vulnerabilities.

“So Sam’s gone and suddenly you feel the urge to see your ex? Got lonely?” He wants to add a biting comment about Dean being the only one who needs a rebound from his brother but he bites his tongue. He’s working on that, too. On not getting in trouble by running off his mouth.

Still, Dean turns his head away. “I never said it was selfless. But I needed to know.”

“You needed to know what?” Cas asks bewildered.

“Whether you’re alive. Whether you’ve got a place. Whether you needed my help.”

He loses his voice and his courage on that last part, and he’s damn right to do so in Cas’ opinion. “I needed help years ago, Dean. And you said _no_.”

“I know.” Dean’s face crumples up in pain. “And I should have helped. I should have found a way. But I didn’t. Because they’d have taken Sammy away from me. You know that, right? If they’d found drugs in the house, he’d have ended in foster care. I had to protect him.”

Cas expects it but it still hurts. It’s not that he hadn’t known. Even while they had been together. Even while, for a short time, he had wanted to be everything he could be for Dean. Someone better. Someone worthy.

But everything in Dean’s life is ultimately about Sam. And even with Cas on his best behavior, Dean had never forgotten what a hot mess Cas actually was. He had always made goddamn sure not to let Cas anywhere near Sam. So why that day when everything came to a head had even surprised Cas, he doesn’t know.

All he knows is that even now, years later, it still fucking hurts.

“You literally went straight for him, huh?” He chuckles at his own joke but Dean doesn’t follow.  

And well, maybe he shouldn’t. Dean’s actions do seem a little hypocritical now in light of this new revelation. Dean was no more pure than Cas.

Another thought pops in. “Is that why you were reluctant? To let me fuck you, I mean? I always thought it was because you were a virgin for taking it up the ass.”

Dean flinches at the crude way Cas put that but he recovers well enough. “No, it wasn’t because of that. You were always high, Cas. And not usually on stuff that turned you docile and gentle. I’ve been fucked by enough jerks who didn’t have the patience to make it good for me. I didn’t feel like trying out how much I’d bleed if sky-high you decided lube was against the cosmic nature.”

“Astroglide is never against the cosmic nature,” Cas mumbles but he doesn’t manage to look up from where he’s staring at his hands.

Because Dean is not wrong. Cas _thinks_ he’d have had enough of his wits about him to make sure Dean was prepped thoroughly but he can’t know. Maybe Dean was right to be cautious.

“Does Sam know?” he finally asks.  

“About what? About us or – the other stuff?” Dean asks back.

“Both?” Cas wagers.

“He knows about us. Only after the fact, though. Was kind of hard to keep the heartbreak secret. The other stuff, no. I never told him and if it can be avoided, I never will. He blames himself for enough. I don’t need him to blame himself for this as well.”

“Cause you did it for him.” It’s not a question.

Dean shrugs. “Books and clothes and school lunches, it all costs money.”

“What does he think where the money came from?”

“John. And I told him some bullshit about paper rounds.”

Cas nods. It’s a good enough explanation when you don’t look too closely. “Why did you tell me?”

Dean thinks about that for a few moments before he says, “Cause I ain’t a white knight in shining armor. I’m a messed-up dude who worries about you. I wanted you to know that.”

It tugs on Castiel’s heartstrings. More than it should, probably. Consequently, he answers with, “I should get back to work.”

 “You’ve barely even eaten.”

Cas looks at the heap of burger on his plate. He’s eaten maybe three bites of it. But that’s okay. It’s better than making himself sick. So when he looks up at Dean, he chooses his words carefully. “I’m not Sam. I’m not your responsibility.”

Cause Dean had always been like this. Had always tried to feed him. To make him drink enough water. To get him to stop with whatever substance he was currently abusing. Dean had always been trying to help without being asked.

Only the one time that Cas had actually needed help, the one time he _had_ asked, Dean had said no.

“You’re actually clean, aren’t you?” Dean’s voice is astonished. “I didn’t want to believe the guy. But you get caustic when you’re angry and on something. And you’re downright polite. So you’re not on anything.”

“The guy? What guy?” Cas latches on to the part of the statement that makes the least sense.

“British dude? Penchant for golden dresses? He first didn’t want to tell me where you are cause he thought I was a dealer or something. Told me you were clean now and didn’t need my services anymore.”

“Tall and blonde?” Cas asks to make sure though he can’t believe that Crowley would have suddenly developed a penchant for golden dresses or for keeping him clean.

“Yes,” Dean confirms.

“Shit. Did you tell him your name?” he asks.

“Yeah?” Dean replies somewhat insecurely.

“Shit,” Cas repeats and runs a hand through his hair. “Of all the people in this city, you had to run into Balthazar. Obviously. And tell him your name. I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

“Umm, is he your boyfriend or something?” Dean asks cautiously.

“Roommate. Friend. Metaphorical pain in my butt.” There really is no good way of describing Balthazar.

“And you’ve told him about me.”

“In a moment of withdrawal induced weakness, yes,“ Cas grouses.

”Well, if it helps any, he threatened me in no uncertain terms.”

That makes Cas smile. “Yeah, he would have. But while you’re going to get away with the threat, I’m gonna be called _Vivian_ for the rest of my life.”

Dean chuckles. “Your smile is way prettier than Julia Roberts’.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I’m your ex and a whore, Dean. There’s no need to try to romance me.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s you who brought the movie up, buddy, not me.”

”Well, you didn’t need to run with it.”

They both notice that they’re bickering like an old couple at the same time and fall silent.

“God, I want to badger you about safety,” Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “About always using protection and about not letting anyone get away with anything and about not going with anyone who’s stronger than you and –“ he breaks off. “And I know that I’ve got no right to do it. And that it doesn’t work that way anyway. But by God, I want you to be safe.”

It sounds too honest to even get upset about it. Cas has never managed to be upset with Dean for too long anyway. It’s probably a flaw in character on his side. He sighs and decides to tell the truth. “Would it help if I told you that I try? And that I actually have people looking out for me?”

“Like Balthazar?” Dean asks back.

“Like Balthazar,” Cas confirms, though he’s still pretty sure that it was a bad idea for Dean and Balthy to meet.

“Yeah, that helps,” Dean nods, even though it sounds a bit grudging.

Cas is pretty sure he can’t keep the ill-advised rush of fondness out of his voice when he answers, “There’s no need to be jealous, Dean. He’s just my most glitter-loving friend.”

Dean chuckles a little at that and it warms a part of Cas’ heart that he had forgotten existed.

So he answers that other question after all. “One year, 213 days today. I don’t have a chip like they get at the AA but I keep count.”

The astonishment is back for a second, but then Dean’s smile warms into something deeper. “Congrats, Cas. I’m proud of you.” He looks like it’s true, too.

Cas ducks his head, feels a blush spreading over him that he can’t stop. He’s not used to anyone giving him praise. Balthazar mostly grumbles at him that he better not fall off the wagon.

“Don’t be too proud,” he mumbles. “It’s hard.”

He shudders a little as the familiar pull in his stomach makes itself known. It still reliably does so at least once a day. And today is a good day. Today he isn’t hurting, today he isn’t bleeding. It gets exponentially harder on the other days. Those days when he knows that there’s a way to forget the pain, and he’s not allowed to use it.

“Hey.”

There’s a warm hand over his hand. Dean has moved into his space. Cas really shouldn’t let him. Nothing but heartache and even more temptation to go back to his pills lies that way.

But Dean’s presence is soothing where most other humans put him on edge. So his body doesn’t want to move and Cas lets it. It’s kind of nice, the warmth seeping from Dean to Cas.

“If it wasn’t hard, it wasn’t such a big accomplishment. And you know that it is, right?”

“Did you,” and somehow this still does not want to settle into Cas’ brain, “when you were turning tricks, did you? Take anything? To make it easier?”

“Sometimes,” Dean admits and squeezes Cas’ hand a little. “When the client had something.” He shrugs and it looks a little helpless. “But it never felt good for very long. I had Sammy, you know. I had to be conscious enough to make sure he was okay. So it kind of made me anxious, not being completely there.”

Cas nods because he can understand that. “Why’d you never tell me?”

“Cause you’d have tried to make me take your pills with you,” Dean says bluntly.

“Didn’t I do that anyway?”

“In the beginning. You stopped after a while.”

“We were pretty fucked up, weren’t we?” The pull in his stomach gravitates towards pain when it hits him for the first time, how fucking messed up their relationship had actually been.

Dean chuckles. “You’re a sarcastic narcissistic asshole sometimes. But you also spend your last five bucks to buy tuna for a stray cat that looks hungry. We weren’t fucked up all that much more than anyone else.”

It’s a lie of course. Even if it’s a well-meaning one. “You kept me secret for a reason.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “But I’m not sure it was a good reason.”

“Sam’s not a good reason?”

Dean shakes his head. “Sam’s smart. If I had found the words to explain, he would have understood. He did when you were gone.”

“You really told him about me?”

“Yeah.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“You gonna tell him about this here, too?”

“Kinda hoping that I don’t have to.”

It’s a stab in the gut, all that much worse because he isn’t expecting it. He draws his hand out from under Dean’s.

“I’m hoping you’ll be there to tell him yourself.”

“What?” That doesn’t make sense.

“That’s what I’m here for, Cas. That’s why I came. To ask you to come back home with me.”

Dean drops this bomb and then leans back, out of Cas’ reach, like he feels instinctually that any attempt to hold onto him right now will make Cas flee.

“You can’t be serious.”

“You asked me once whether you could stay with me. I said No then. It was a mistake. I’m here to rectify it. And it doesn’t mean – I understand that we’re not boyfriends anymore. I understand that. But – just come home,” Dean pleads.

“Home?” Something of the old rage, the one that always simmers, rears its head. “You think Lebanon was _home_ to me?”

There’s hurt in Dean’s eyes and his expression says what he doesn’t. That for a while there, it had looked to him like it might become a home. Their home.

Abruptly, Cas pushes out of his chair. “Go home, Dean. Go where you belong.”

He’s two steps away from the table when Dean calls him back. “Cas!”

And because Cas is a masochist, he turns.

“I can’t. Not tonight anyway.” Dean holds up the empty beer bottle.

It takes only a moment to sink in. Cas closes his eyes for a second before accusing Dean, “Did you do that on purpose? Did you drink just so I couldn’t throw you out?”

“You can still throw me out,” Dean points out. “You can walk out of here and be rid of me. But I can’t go home.”

Cas groans. “You’re impossible. Do you have a room to stay for the night at least?”

Unsurprisingly, Dean shakes his head. “I can sleep in the car. Probably better not to leave her alone all night in this area anyway.”

For a moment, Cas stays silent. There is something inevitable about this turn of events. Not because Cas had consciously thought it would be this way but because Dean had never been easy to get rid of when he’d set his mind to something.

“Well, what are you waiting for? You said you’d pay for our dinner,” Cas gives up in the face of the universe and Dean Winchester conspiring, and comes back to the table. “But note that I’m only doing this so that you can see that I _have_ a place to stay and that you can stop with this guilt trip.”

“It’s not a guilt trip. Well, I feel guilty. But mostly, I miss you.”

That’s just the kind of talk that Cas can’t let get to his heart. Cause if he does, he’ll follow Dean home. And then the day that Sam needs help and Dean throws Cas out again, that’s the day when he’ll be back on his pills.

So he can’t.

It sounds easy and logical but he’s watching Dean pay the bill, flirting harmlessly with the waitress, and he knows that nothing about this is easy.

 

“Keys.” Cas holds out his hand.

“What?” Dean immediately clings protectively to his keys.

“I’m sober, you’re not. And you’re right, the car shouldn’t be parked here all night.”

“Do you even drive?” Dean asks back.

“Sometimes,” Cas says. Which is true. He drives Balthazar’s tank of a car whenever Balthazar has a show where he wants to make an impression. He pays him for being his chauffeur, too. Which is more than Cas can say for this night. “Keys, Dean.”

He makes his voice firm and something about it works. Dean pouts but he hands over the keys and slides into the passenger seat with minimal grumbling.

Cas lets his fingers glide over the leather of the Impala for a moment, reacquaints himself with her slender form. Dean had never let him drive her when they were together. But they’d made out quite a bit in this car.

Cas smiles at the memory. He’s been fucked in much lesser cars than this one since. But not in a single one that was better.

The drive to Cas’ place is quiet. Cas doesn’t know what to say and he thinks Dean is too busy dying every time Cas has to brake to say much of anything.

So it isn’t until they are parked in the small parking lot in front of his run-down apartment building that Cas turns to Dean. “It’s small and shabby. The apartment. We know it. But it’s ours. We don’t bring customers, and we don’t allow anyone who judges us. So you better keep that in mind.”

“Not a problem,” Dean says and Cas almost believes him.

Silently, they climb the stairs to get to the railing on Cas’ floor. At least it’s a house and not a trailer park, Cas thinks, and it’s pretty much the nicest thing he can say about the place. Well, it’s cheap, that’s the other thing he can say.

He turns the key in the lock and opens the door. As usual, it feels a little too loose in his hands. Ever since a robbery ripped the thing off its hinges, it’s never been quite the same again.

“You’re home early, sweetheart,” Balthazar calls from their mini-kitchen, where he’s stirring something atrocious. Then he spots Dean and stops mid-movement. “I’ll be damned. You actually brought the cowboy home.”

It’s less painful than expected. Mostly. “Dean, meet Balthazar. Balthazar, this is Dean.”

Balthazar carefully puts down the spoon that had been dripping sauce all over the oven, and saunters over, giving his hips a little more swing than necessary. “So you really are _that_ Dean, huh?”

He lets his eyes wander up and down Dean’s body.

“Knock it off,” Cas chides him.

“Oh, come on. You told me he was a hunk, but you didn’t tell me any of _this_ ,” he gestures up and down Dean’s body.

“Hey,” Dean says. “Person here. Not a piece of meat.”

“Oh honey,” Balthazar chuckles, “not that big of a difference in our world.”

He at least refrains from patting Dean’s cheek and instead goes back to his pasta. Or that’s what Cas assumes he’s making. “You want some?”

“No thanks, we had dinner,” Cas answers and holds up the bag with the rest of his burger as proof. Actually, that needs to be put in the fridge.

“So I take it you’re not going back out tonight?” Balthazar asks.

“I’ll have my part of the rent money by the end of the week, don’t worry,” Cas answers.

“Not actually what I meant, sweetie.” Balthazar gives him a smile. “Did you want the apartment to yourself tonight? You know that I have a list of people who I can call. Each of whom would gladly pay me for housing me for a few hours.”

“What? Cause of Dean? No. No, there’s not going to be anything happening here.”

Balthazar raises his eyebrows. “Why did you bring him back here then?”

Cas can feel himself blush. It’s probably giving more away than he wants, so he tries to at least make his voice sound bored. “He’s got no place to stay. He can have the couch.”

In reply, Balthazar turns around to the small brown lump they generously call their couch.

Cas sighs. “Alright, he can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s fine. It’s just for the night.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Balthazar grins.

Cas doesn’t give in to the temptation to punch him. It would only give him satisfaction. “Just don’t choke on the atrocity you’re cooking.”

As far as his standards go, that’s actually a pretty decent insult and Balthazar acknowledges it with a proud little nod. “Well done, Cassie.”

This can only get more embarrassing, so he might as well end it. “Come on, Dean, let me show you your lodgings for the night.”

Cas stomps ahead, down their cramped hallway and into his room. It’s tiny. A bookshelf doubles as a closet because there is no space for anything but his bed and one shelf. And barely enough space to walk between the two. It’ll be an interesting night.

But of course that’s not where Dean’s attention goes. Of course the first thing he does after throwing his duffle on the bed is to walk straight up to the one photograph that is framed on the shelf.

It’s no wonder that he recognizes it. Because it’s a present from him. He’d made the frame from scrap metal and everything.

“You kept it,” Dean says and strokes softly over their young faces in the photograph.

“So I’m sentimental, whoopee,” Cas snaps, though it lacks heat.

“I’ve always liked that photo. Do you remember the day?”

“Yes, Dean, I remember,” Cas says slightly exasperated. “I was miserable.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I was, too. You’d told me I could only go to the fun park with you and Sam if I was sober. So I did that for you and then I didn’t even get to kiss you all fucking day.”

“Sammy was with us,” Dean protests.

“Other brothers know about their brothers’ boyfriends,” Cas shoots back.

But the topic has lost some of its potency. With Dean here in Cas’ room, it feels more like the ghost of an argument than like an issue he wants to tackle right now.

A feeling that he’s not unused to. It’s always been this way, whenever Dean had done something problematic. Care about it later, take what you can get now. Because it’s going to end anyway. Which is exactly what had happened.

The thought sobers Cas up.

“I’m going to get fresh sheets. I mean, I shower when I come home. But I’m pretty sure you still don’t want to sleep in the dirty whore sheets.” It’s too self-deprecating and he hears it but he can’t stop himself.

“Leave it,” Dean shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?” Cas asks doubtfully.

In answer, Dean plonks down on the bed. “Told you, Cas. Been there.”

“You don’t think it’s dirty?” Cas asks and knows that Dean can hear the _you don’t think I’m dirty?_

“No, I don’t.”

He looks serious enough that Cas thinks maybe he actually means it. Careful to leave a few inches between them, he sits down on his bed as well.

“This is weird,” he admits quietly.

“What is?”

“Having you here in this room. Didn’t expect that to happen. Not after Rexford.”

Dean has the decency to blush. “I’m sorry about Rexford.”

Cas shrugs. His heart had been broken before that night. There had only been so much potential to make it worse.

“I didn’t want to say goodbye that morning.” Dean says quietly.

Cas shrugs again. It makes no difference.

“I won’t want to say goodbye tomorrow morning, either,” Dean adds.

“Well, you can’t stay here,” Cas answers, even while he crosses his arms in front of his chest. He’s either freezing or protecting himself, he’s not quite sure.

“But you could come with me,” Dean repeats.

His tone is so somber and honest that it hurts. Cas doesn’t want to listen to it. Doesn’t want to listen to Dean promising things that sound like everything Castiel once wanted. “I have a life here, Dean. Friends. I can’t leave them hanging.”

Dean bites his lips. “Even though you hate it?” It doesn’t sound like a challenge.

“Even though I hate it,” Cas confirms quietly. For a moment, neither of them says anything. Then Cas gets up. “I’m going to go shower and brush my teeth. I’ll be back.”

“Okay.”

He goes through the motions of his night ritual without paying much attention to it. It’s hours too early for him, much closer to the time that normal people went to bed than what he is used to. There’s no way in hell he’s going to manage to sleep right now. But then, with Dean in his room, most likely he won’t be able to sleep anyway. Well, he can throw him out first thing in the morning and get his sleep then.

The thought inexplicably hurts.

Freshly washed, he steps into his ratty old PJ pants and a threadbare t-shirt. He’s never been more glad that he enjoys the comfort of PJs rather than sleeping in his boxers. At least most of his skin is covered.

There’s a stack of blankets and pillows waiting on the couch for him when he goes to the living room. He already wants to send a silent thank you to Balthy when he notices that the person in question is also waiting for him.

Bathy has gotten rid of his make-up and is wearing jeans and a nondescript t-shirt that make him almost unrecognizable. He’s uncharacteristically subdued, too, when he looks up from his magazine to Cas. “So is he? Your Richard Gere?”

The question is as expected as it’s unexpected, and Cas lets himself fall down on the couch. The space is small enough that he ends up half on top of Balthazar. Automatically, Balthy’s arm comes up around him and he leans into his chest.

“He wants to be,” Cas mumbles into Balthy’s shirt.

“And you? Do you want him to be?”

Cas shakes his head into the fabric, though he’s pretty sure the gesture lacks conviction.

Balthy runs his fingers through Cas’ hair and Cas leans into the touch.

“We can deal, you know? If you want to give this a try. You deserve your shot at happiness.”

Instead of answering, Cas snuggles deeper into Balthazar’s warmth. He gets rewarded with a tightening of Balthy’s arm around him.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m going to miss you obviously but I’ll just make you call every week.”

“Not going,” Cas breathes into the shirt.

“Mmm,” Balthazar hums noncommittally. “You sure about that? Cause I’m pretty sure you always wanted to get out of here. You just never found the momentum to go.”

That’s the truth of course, so Cas doesn’t bother denying it.  

“Hey Cas?”

Balthy nudges at him until Cas turns so that he is on his back, his legs dangling over the edge of the couch, looking up at his friend.

“Make sure he’s just the momentum, alright? You and I both know how the stories end where the whore tries to be what the white knight wants them to be.”

“He’s not a white knight,” Cas says. “This is not like that.”

“Okay,” Balthazar nods, not questioning him. Instead, he squeezes Cas’ shoulder. “You should go back to him. He’s going to be waiting.”

Cas sits up then but he slings his arms around Balthazar’s neck hugging him tight. Balthy hugs back just as fiercely.

It’s goodbye and even if they don’t say it, they both know it.

 

When Cas trudges back into his bedroom with his bundle of blankets, Dean has made himself comfortable in Cas’ bed. On the left half of Cas’ bed to be precise.

The half he used to sleep on when they were together.

Something in Cas gives. He doesn’t even make an effort to fight this, just sets his bundle down on the free side of the bed wordlessly. When Dean reaches out a hand, he hands him the pillows so that Dean can stack them next to the ones he’s currently occupying.

“The bathroom is to the left,” Cas says.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, “I found it.”

The question is immediately on his lips, to ask how much Dean had heard and seen of the conversation in the living room, but in the end, it’s irrelevant.

Silently, Cas slips under the covers.

“I could move here,” Dean says. “I mean, I have a pretty decent job at Singer’s Garage right now, and I’d miss Ellen and Bobby and Jo, but there’s always phones. And it’s not any further from here to Stanford than it is from Sioux Falls. I could always find a job as a mechanic here.”

Cas watches Dean sharply. He’s different when he speaks about Sioux Falls than when he talks about Lebanon. “You’ve got something to lose in Sioux Falls.”

Dean nods. “I found a home there.”

It’s a loaded word for both of them, so Dean choosing it now is all the more noteworthy.

“You’d give that up for me?”

“Yes.” There is no hesitation.

“I’d be worth that much to you?”

“Yes, Cas. You’re worth everything.”

There really only is one answer to that. “You’re insane.”

It makes Dean smile. “Been told that before. Never could change it.”

There’s a beat of silence before Cas shakes his head and turns to shut off the light. “We should sleep.”

“You gonna throw me out in the morning?”

It’s dark now so Cas can’t see Dean’s face. Doesn’t know whether it’s a nervous question or whether he’s already resigned. “Just sleep, Dean.”

There’s a moment of quiet and then, “Can I hold your hand?”

It would be funny. If it wasn’t for the part where it really isn’t. Because Dean is not a client asking for some small physical comfort. Dean is asking for a part of Cas’ heart.

Cas barely hesitates before reaching over. He finds Dean’s hand and tangles their fingers. Doesn’t even add a disclaimer about what this does or doesn’t mean. He feels too raw to lie anyway.

“I’m leaving you the first time you call me _Vivian_. Just so you know,” he mutters into his pillow, half hoping that Dean won’t be able to understand it.

No such luck. Dean’s voice is deeper and softer when he answers. “We’re both _Vivian_ , remember?”

Involuntarily, Castiel’s fingers tighten around Dean’s.

“Okay, neither of us is _Vivian_. That better?”

But Dean’s light tone doesn’t mesh with Cas’ heavy heart. So he just holds on tighter.

“Hey. I’m right here,” Dean soothes when he notices. “And unless you want me to I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas doesn’t expect the sudden wetness on his cheeks, so he doesn’t manage to repress the sob that comes with it.

Dean hears it, wants to let go of his hand and give him space, but Cas doesn’t let him. He throws his arm around Dean’s neck instead, hugs him close, holds him closer than even Balthazar before, and after a second, Dean reciprocates, drawing Cas in by a warm hand around his hip.

“It’s okay, Cas. You’re going to be okay.”

“Not me, you idiot. You.” Because Dean had had to sell himself and if Cas had to choose, he’d always choose himself to be the one who gets hurt. Never Dean. He holds him close, buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, uncaring that Dean will be able to feel the tears spilling over.

“I’m okay, too, Cas. Things turned out okay,” Dean whispers and presses a kiss into Cas’ hair, tries to draw him impossibly closer.

“I worry about you, too, you assbutt,” Cas sniffles, “It’s not your sole privilege to worry about people.”

Dean chuckles lowly, “God, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

Dean has said it before, earlier today, and then all it had done was make Cas want to flee. Now, it’s different. “I’ve missed you, too,” he mumbles and it feels like the truest thing he has said in a year.

It is answered with a tiny sigh from Dean. Relief, maybe.

So they stay wrapped up in each other, no intention of letting go on either side.

Cas can feel it, how his body slowly relaxes. How over the space of minutes or hours, his body gives in and molds itself to Dean. How where they already had no space between them, they now connect. It’s a re-acquaintance, his body having known Dean before, but it’s also new. He shares touches and kisses with Balthy, the only touches that aren’t paid for, but those are simple. There is no longing to them, no urge to get closer, no intent to delve deeper. Now, it feels like every molecule of Cas’ skin wants to find Dean’s skin, wants to figure him out, wants to meld into one.

He’s glad again that he’s wearing long night clothes because he’s not sure he wouldn’t do something stupid like giving in to that urge otherwise. To finding every inch of Dean’s skin, to touching it, to licking it, to getting to know it with his full senses for the first time ever. To getting to know Dean with a clear mind for the first time ever.

“Dean?” The word is out before he can stop it.

“Hmm?”

Cas pushes himself up on his elbows, away from Dean, if just an arm’s length. Creates a tiny barrier between them. “If I’d still be taking the pills, would you have asked me to come home with you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Now it’s Dean who moves, who puts a little more space between. He takes in a deep breath before he speaks, like he’s scared and needs the encouragement. “Because I love you. And I want to be with you. And I know that that’s not what I’m supposed to say. I know that I shouldn’t be enabling an addiction. But in the end… Sorry, but I’d rather have you, addicted or not.”

“You love me?” Cas’ brain stutters to a halt on that word.

“Course I do,” Dean says and it sounds like a simple truth, the way he says it.

“It’s been years, Dean,” Cas reminds him.

“I know. I don’t expect you to love me back, either. I know you’re not the same person you were. I’m not the same person I was, either. I got so sick of it, Cas. So sick of not being who I wanted to be. So sick of always lying. I ain’t gonna do that anymore. So this is me: Dean Winchester. I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets and long walks on the beach and I’m going to make it up to the love of my life that I hurt him because I’m a coward.”

The wetness is back to clinging to Cas’ eyes.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so very sorry that I couldn’t be stronger for you.”

“Shut up,” Cas interrupts him. There’s a hitch in his voice but he bulldozes right over it. “Don’t you dare talk yourself down like that! You’re the strongest fucking person that I know. You didn’t run. You did what you had to. You raised your brother while I –,“ He breaks off, an unexpected sob wracking his body.

“It ain’t your fault, Cas. What happened to Gabe. It ain’t your fault,” Dean says.

Because of course he would. Of course he would know and would try to make Cas feel better.

Cas turns away from him, can’t take it that Dean is nice to him about this. Doesn’t want anyone to be nice to him about it. He doesn’t deserve it.

But obviously that’s not enough to dissuade to Dean because a hand comes up from behind him, draws Cas close, makes him the little spoon.

“Not your fault, Cas. You couldn’t have done anything.”

“You don’t know that!” He wants to yell it but it comes out broken. “If I hadn’t been high, if I’d been there, if I’d –“

“You still couldn’t have done anything.”

“I got clean,” Cas sobs like it’s his lifeline to cling onto. And maybe it is. 

“You got clean,” Dean confirms. “You got clean.”

Dean hugs him closer, and there is so much pride in his voice that it sounds like the tone that he uses for Sam. It’s got the same depth of affection. Cas has no idea what to do with that, the only thing he knows is that he can’t stop the sobs that shake him. It’s gross and ugly, because crying is always gross and ugly, and if it’s a dirty whore who’s doing the crying that doesn’t make it any better.

But Dean doesn’t seem to care. In the opposite, he nuzzles his nose into Cas’ hair and he holds him through it, his strong arms grounding Cas into the moment so that his thoughts come back to the warmth and the weight that’s surrounding him instead of drifting to the pale cold shape of his brother on a tiled kitchen floor.

“I didn’t know,” Dean whispers. “When you came to me that day. I didn’t know what had happened. You were gone by the time I found out. That’s what I – that’s why I came to Rexford.”

Cas tries to curl up into a ball, make himself smaller and get away from this. He doesn’t want to think about it. Not now, not ever. Neither about the day in Lebanon, nor about the one in Rexford.

“But Rexford was wrong of me. It was selfish. God, Cas, I was feeling so guilty. I wanted you to be okay so badly. I should have listened instead.”

The last part of the sentence is muffled, Dean hiding his face against Cas’ back.

“I’m so fucking sorry. Should have listened. Should have been honest with you. Should have told you.” He groans helplessly and suddenly his voice is louder again, as he‘s getting agitated. “But how the fuck do you tell your boyfriend that you got arrested for _public indecency_ before? That it’s not on your record that it was a prostitution charge only because you blew the police officer in the backroom of the station to make the charge go away? How do you tell your boyfriend that you’ve had more than your proverbial two strikes and that it’s only the goodwill of the sheriff and the social worker that your brother is still living with you?” He abruptly stops his rant and sighs. “I didn’t know how, Cas. I just knew that I was on my last chance. And that with John gone, there was no one but me. I couldn’t let Sam down. I’m so fucking sorry, Cas.”

Dean’s voice breaks on the final words and because he’s as stellar at sharing his emotions as Cas is, he lets go of him, so that now he can turn away and sob in peace on his side of the bed. But Cas is faster, his hands closing around Dean’s wrists and drawing him back in. Clutching him close until Dean’s chest is pressed against Cas’ back, and every one of Dean’s sobs translates into hot wet breaths against his neck.

“It’s okay, Dean. I always knew that Sam was your priority. It’s okay.” Almost as an afterthought, because it is so clear to him that it barely needs mentioning, he adds, “You could’ve told me, though. I wouldn’t have judged.”

There’s a wet nod against his back, and yeah, today has probably made this clear.

“We’re both pretty fucked up, Dean.” And really, that’s just stating the obvious. “And there’s also that whole shitton of stuff that went wrong between us. You sure you want to try this?”  

“’s always been you, Cas. Never been anyone else.” It even sounds wet as Dean mumbles it into his shirt.

“Yeah,” Cas nods and knows the smile that break through will be audible. “Me too.”

“So you’ll…?” Dean asks, voice changing to a cautious hope.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas confirms. “I’ll come with you.”

There’s a huge shaky exhale from Dean and then a quiet, “Thank you.”

Instead of answering, Cas twists in Dean’s hold so that he can face him again. He waits until Dean looks up, eyes glassy even in the dark of the room. Then he bends forward and presses a small kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth. “I love you.”

Dean’s lips quirk up a little, a small smile, before he presses closer until their foreheads touch and their bodies are aligned from top to bottom. “I love you, too.”

 

In the morning, they pack quietly. There isn’t actually much in the apartment that belongs to Cas. The whole of his possessions fills up two duffle bags.

“Where’s your friend?” Dean asks when they’ve packed everything and are ready to leave.

“He won’t be home before we’re gone,” Cas says. They’ve said their goodbyes yesterday night, and Balthazar is not one to draw out pain.

So all Cas does is leave a small stack of things on the kitchen counter.

His keys to the apartment. What money he has for this week’s rent. A note with Dean’s address. And the framed photo of him and Dean.

He wipes reverently across the metal frame one last time.

“You sure you want to leave that?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Cas nods. “I don’t need the memory anymore. I’ve got the future now.”


End file.
